Surrender to Darkness Read online

With that, he almost flew out the door.

  “I’ve never seen the man smile so much,” Murdoch said, shaking his head. “Apparently, producing a babe is a joy like no other.”

  Kiyoko met his gaze. “Even when it’s a girl.”

  “So it would seem. Shall we go upstairs?” Spying her downturned lips, he added, “I’ll keep my distance—you have my word. I’ve no intention of repeating the mistake of touching you. Believe it or not, it’s not my habit to crush women.”

  “Crush? Perhaps not. But you seem quite content to smother me. Threatening my friends at every turn and claiming me as yours is hardly a way to give me breathing room.”

  His gaze remained level. “Lass, let’s be blunt. Dream or no dream, you’ve been naked and willing in my arms. Call me old-fashioned, but to my mind, that means something.”

  Willing? More like wanton. “Threatening Watanabe-san was unwarranted.”

  “Aye, well. I’m a simple man with simple notions.” Using his coffee mug, he pointed up the stairs.

  Kiyoko obeyed the unspoken command and climbed the stairs. Simple was the last word she would use to describe Murdoch. “What does that mean, precisely?”

  “I expect my women to be true.”

  She halted and turned to face him, two steps lower than she was. His eyes were level with hers. There was so much wrong with his offhand remark, she didn’t know where to begin. “Your women? You have more than one?”

  “At the moment? No.”

  “Are you suggesting that I am your woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I agree to that?”

  He smiled. “Verbally? No.”

  “Are you also suggesting that if I were your woman—a claim which I dispute—having breakfast with Watanabe-san would constitute being untrue?”

  His eyes narrowed at her icy tone. “Encouraging his attention is unwise.”

  “And how does one encourage a man’s attention, may I ask? Speaking to him? Smiling? Pouring tea for him?”

  Murdoch frowned. “I believe I was quite specific.”

  “No touching.”

  “Aye.”

  “So, accepting a proffered arm on a stroll is forbidden. Is that true with any man, or just Watanabe-san?”

  Murdoch stared at her, silent.

  She sighed. “He’s the president of my father’s company. I am making a very determined effort to learn the business. That means spending time with him. Lots of time. Get used to it, Murdoch.”

  “Admit that you’re my woman, and I’ll do my best.”

  “This is the twenty-first century. Men don’t own women.”

  A slow smile spread over his face. “If you prefer to claim me as your man, that’s an acceptable compromise.”

  Kiyoko snorted and continued up the stairs. “Why bother? We can never be a couple. We cannot touch without invoking your berserker.”

  They entered Murdoch’s bedroom—now hers—and closed the door. Kiyoko curled up on the cushioned window seat, as far away from the bed and Murdoch as she could get.

  “I thought you said I need only acknowledge that the berserker’s actions are my own,” he said, trailing her across the room, “and I would gain control over it.”

  “That’s a necessary step, but taming the berserker will not be easy. It will take practice.” She tilted her head and studied the rugged angles of his face. “And self-knowledge.”

  He appropriated the armchair with the lithe grace of a large cat, kicked off his boots, and rested his socked feet on the cushion next to her. Effectively trapping her against the window. “Please don’t tell me I need to confess all my deep dark sins, confront my past, and accept who I am. I’m not into psychobabble bullshit.”

  “Do you have any deep dark sins?”

  Murdoch cupped his mug in both hands. “If I did, I sure as bloody hell wouldn’t admit them to the woman I’m trying to impress.”

  “But you did commit at least one serious sin. Lena told me all Gatherers are serving time in purgatory.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Are you back on speaking terms with Lena? I’m happy to hear that.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What was your sin?”

  “Adultery.”

  She feigned a gasp. “You? The one who insists his women be true? Surely not.” A flush rose on his cheeks. “Is a single adulterous affair enough to send a person to purgatory? Death must have Gatherers to spare.”

  “There may have been more than one,” he admitted.

  “Hmmm. Something tells me there’s more to this story that you’re saying, Murdoch.”

  “Isn’t seducing a bevy of married women bad enough?”

  “To send you to purgatory, perhaps. But not to account for your reluctance to discuss the topic. You’re embarrassed. Tell me why.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Kiyoko considered letting him off the hook. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. But confession was good for the soul. “An honorable man would share such information. To ensure that his chosen woman entered into a relationship with open eyes.”

  “Damn, you’re ruthless.”

  She waited. Patiently.

  “All right,” he said, on a heavy sigh. “I slept with my brother’s wife.”

  She sucked in a breath so sharp it stung. “You did what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why does any man tup a woman?” he asked drily.

  “But she was married to your brother. That’s like sleeping with your sister.”

  “No, it bloody well is not.” Sitting up, he set his mug on the table next to his chair. “Margaret was a lovely lass, and I had occasion to sleep with her a time or two before she married my brother. Believe me, she wasn’t my sister.”

  “Did she make the first overture?”

  “Is a glance an overture?” he asked.Then he shrugged. “I knew she wanted me. I was off to war the next morn, so I took advantage. That’s the whole of it.”

  His stiff shoulders said far more than his words. He was lying. There was something else about the tale that he didn’t wish to reveal. But she chose to let it go.

  “Tell me about the potion.”

  He sat back. “When I was fifteen, I was captured by the Norse in a raid on the coast of Mann. They hoped that I would fill out enough to become a rower on one of their Viking ships. Alas, that never happened. For three years, I was held as a slave in the Northern Isles and worked to the bone. I was near death when a very powerful jarl purchased me from my master.”

  “He saved you.”

  Murdoch snorted. “In a manner of speaking. To improve his odds of success in a raid on a neighboring island, he offered me as a sacrifice to Odin, the Norse god of war. He’d have cut my heart out had one of Odin’s warriors not stayed his hand.”

  “You mean a temple guard?”

  “No, I mean a soldier acting at Odin’s behest. The pagan gods are real. Not as powerful as some myths suggest, but far more capable than you might imagine. They have their own society and keep to themselves, only occasionally interacting with humankind.”

  A fantastical tale, to be sure, but not beyond Kiyoko’s imagination. “Please don’t be offended, but why would Odin choose to save you? Of all the men he could have approached?”

  “Loki, Odin’s court jester, thought it would be amusing to change a frail, sickly lad with poor vision into a powerful warrior with uncontrollable fits of rage.”

  “Oh.”

  “The war god gave me a choice. Return home, or swallow his mystical potion and take up my sword as his indentured knight. I chose the potion.”

  “Did he not explain all that would happen to you?”

  Murdoch nodded. “He was quite thorough in his explanation. I was just too stupid to say no. I served him for seven years, then returned home.”

  A very long and arduous seven years, almost guaranteed. But Murdoch provided no detail, asked for no sympathy. “Your family must have been overjoyed to see you
again.”

  “Not exactly.”

  She smiled. “Did they think you were a ghost?”

  “For a time, they refused to believe I was Jamie Murdoch at all. The changes wrought by the potion were so dramatic that even my own mother did not recognize me.”

  Kiyoko looked for the wounds in Murdoch’s eyes. But he was as calm and confident as ever. Not a hint of distress. “Your common memories eventually swayed her?”

  “Aye.”

  “And?” she prompted again. Frustrating man. How could he be so generous with some explanations and so stingy with others? “Did she embrace you then?”

  “She accepted that I was her son.”

  Not quite the same thing. “Surely your family must have welcomed another hale and hearty man into the fold? Your new talents must have made them proud.”

  His socked toe played with a silver buckle on his boot. “My presence was felt. The Vikings never again made a successful raid on our shores, and the MacDonalds ceased to steal our cattle.”

  “You brought peace to the land.”

  “No, not peace.” He lifted his gaze. “Imagine me as a young man of twenty-five, honed to the sword, seasoned by battle, but never having developed a mote of control over the beast inside. Imagine me set free among tender, breakable humans.”

  Dread tugged her lips down. “Did you slay a family member?”

  “More than one. But my kin adapted, learned to keep their distance as we fought.” He sighed. “The problem was not with my own kin, but with the MacDonalds. After my return, the hostilities between our two clans faded, and the MacDonald laird offered me his daughter’s hand in marriage to cement our new alliance.”

  Kiyoko blinked. “You married her?”

  “No, there was no opportunity for that. I killed her several months before the wedding. Her, and a dozen fine MacDonald warriors.”

  “By accident.” She was sure of that.

  He grimaced. “Is it fair to label anything the berserker does as an accident?”

  “How did it happen?”

  “She was promised to me. I did not love her—barely even knew her, in point of fact—but my berserker accepted her as mine. When I chanced upon the lady in the apple orchard, kissing the captain of MacDonald’s guard, the beast rose up and with one miserable swing of my sword started a bitter feud that would last four hundred years.”

  Kiyoko lowered her gaze to her hands.

  “Had I slain only the soldiers,” Murdoch added, “all would have been forgotten. Rough justice, they would have said. But MacDonald’s daughter was killed in the fray. And that changed everything.”

  She nodded. “You died in a battle against the MacDonalds.”

  “Much later. After a wealth of poisonous events colored both sides. By then, even my death could not end the feud.”

  The story was tragic, but Murdoch delivered the tale with an ironic twist of his lips that discouraged pity. Still, Kiyoko rubbed her arms to banish a guilty twinge. His berserker had already given him much to grieve over. Rousing it to tap into its strength for the ritual might well lead to more. Could she live with that?

  She gave his comment a brief, respectful silence, then said, “Do you fear that your berserker will do the same with Watanabe-san as it did with the MacDonald captain?”

  A faint smile crept onto Murdoch’s face. “I’ve had seven hundred years to teach the beast some manners. It would take a sight more than your hand upon Watanabe’s sleeve to provoke an attack.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “So, your suggestion that the berserker could break loose at any moment and snatch his life is nothing more than jealous manipulation.”

  The smile deepened. “Perhaps.”

  “How very dishonorable of you.”

  “Not dishonorable,” he disputed. “Careful. The connection we share has caught me left-footed on several occasions already. I’d prefer not to learn a harsh new lesson.”

  “Is such a connection part of the berserker lore?”

  He shook his head. “Berserkers are bred solely for war.”

  Outside, a cloud drifted over the sun, dulling the light in the bedroom to a gentle gray.

  “Do you have a theory about why we respond to each other the way we do? About what causes the dreams?” she asked. There was nothing remotely warlike about the way he made her feel. Being close to him was like riding a roller coaster of hot, achy need. The sizzle of awareness and the urge to press her skin to his never faded, never waned. She was almost getting used to its incessant, nagging presence.

  “I don’t believe in soul mates, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said. “Mother Nature is a wise woman. To create only one mate for each woman and one woman for each man would bring a swift end to the human race.”

  “I agree.” And she did. But Murdoch’s crisp repudiation of the soul mate theory still stung. “I suspect it’s the Veil.”

  At the mention of the relic, Murdoch’s gaze sharpened.

  “Which you carry on your person at all times.”

  She nodded. “Your berserker is probably reacting to the power of the Veil. Resulting in some kind of mystical storm whenever we’re near each other.”

  The sun reappeared on the other side of the cloud, pouring a bucket of vivid color into the room and spotlighting Murdoch in the chair. He rose to his feet and sought shade. “There’s a quick way to test that notion,” he said. “Remove the Veil.”

  The invitation in his eyes was a powerful lure.

  Remove the Veil and let us kiss again.

  But the eager energy coiled in his body countered the thrill of his words. One mention of the Veil and he came alive. She didn’t doubt that he was attracted to her, nor did she doubt that his desire to claim her was real. But given a choice between the Veil and her, he would pick the Veil.

  She broke free of his stare and looked out the window. The cedar deck and scattered chairs in the back-yard didn’t truly interest her, but they provided her with a moment to compose herself.

  “I think not. The influence of the Veil is a possibility, not a fact.” Taking advantage of her inability to see his face, she forged on. “I have no desire to find myself ripped apart by your berserker because we acted without sufficient proof.”

  They were cruel words. Hurtful words.

  But they were the only weapon she had against Murdoch’s charm. Even as she spoke them, her heart shuddered at the lost opportunity to trade the Veil for a few blissful moments in his arms.

  “You have very little faith in me,” he said.

  “This has nothing to do—” A slim figure darted from the evergreen hedge to the red front door of a single-story building farther down the path. A second later, that very same figure glanced quickly over his shoulder, then slipped inside.

  Frowning, Kiyoko turned to Murdoch.

  “What reason would Yoshio-san have to enter MacGregor’s house?”

  15

  It took a moment for Kiyoko’s question to make any sense. Murdoch was swamped by wounded pride. Aye, she had good reason to believe he would hurt her. But hearing the accusation fall from her lips tore a hole the size of Gibraltar in his gut.

  “Yoshio?” he asked.

  She pointed out the window. “There.”

  Murdoch followed the direction of her finger. “MacGregor’s at the hospital and Emily is down at the arena. There’s no reason for Yoshio to visit.”

  “Shall we confront him?”

  Murdoch didn’t bother to respond. He led the way downstairs and out the back door. The Judas coins were no longer stored in MacGregor’s house, but there were plenty of other valuables inside. “How well do you know Yoshio?”

  “Extremely well, or so I thought.”

  Murdoch tossed her a frown. “Something happen?”

  “Not really. Small things. During the demon attack on my father’s house, he abandoned his position. That’s very unlike him. Then just a few minutes ago, I bumped into him leaving the ranch house. He had no better reason
to be there than he has to be in MacGregor’s house.”

  “Could he be possessed by a thrall demon?”

  “And still maintain normal auras? I don’t think so.”

  They reached the house. Murdoch peered through the narrow strip of glass next to the door, but saw no movement inside. He twisted the knob and slowly opened the door.

  “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll check things out.”

  Kiyoko arched a brow, drew her sword, and stepped over the threshold. Murdoch held back a grin and followed, protecting her back.

  They moved quietly toward the faint rumble of a voice—through the hall, past the kitchen, and down to MacGregor’s office. The door to the office was ajar. Enough to let them hear what was being said, but not enough to offer a view of the room. Unfortunately, Yoshio was speaking Japanese.

  In a one-sided conversation.

  Murdoch glanced at Kiyoko.

  She was frowning, and as their eyes met, she held up a finger in a silent request for a minute. The longer she listened, the deeper her frown got. Finally, when she’d heard enough, she kicked the door open.

  Yoshio was seated behind the desk, talking on the phone. He leapt to his feet, dropping the phone and immediately reaching for his sword. But as soon as he spotted Kiyoko, he relaxed. His hand fell to his side, and he bowed.

  “Ashida-san.”

  A furious exchange of Japanese took place, with Kiyoko very much the aggressor and Yoshio answering with polite but firm, unapologetic responses.

  “Could we do this in English?” Murdoch asked, reaching across the desk to hang up the phone. “My Japanese is limited to domo arigato and hai.”

  “He was sharing the details of the ranch layout with the other onmyōji,” Kiyoko accused. “Against my specific orders.”

  “Their role is to protect you,” Yoshio answered. “To do so, they must have the means.”

  “One of them is a spy. You are revealing critical information to our enemy.”

  Yoshio stiffened. “The onmyōji are honorable.”

  “Perhaps you are the spy.”

  His gaze flew to meet hers, then quickly fell away. “Surely you do not believe that. I would never do anything to harm you, Ashida-san. Your father entrusted me with your safety the day of my arrival at the dojo, and I have never ceased trying to prove his faith in me.”